the sun's rays fall flat
for they miss the shape of you ~
emptiness distilled
"If you could say it in words
there would be no reason
to paint”.
Edward Hopper
..............
I could be a figure
inside an Edward Hopper painting -
alone, sitting on a bench seat
in a park, deep in the solitude
of a disconnected world.
The moment is framed in silence,
pulled tight across the morning
like a stretched canvass
waiting for a brush to press down
and set the taut still trembling.
But there is no shadow
poised above, no brush in a hand,
just an empty sky that seems
to go on forever, spilling beyond
the picture and into nowhere.
I wish I could escape
the framed boundaries
of this artwork, to stand back
and see the same perspective
that was used to paint me.
He zings through tall grasses and lands on my knee
I try my best to pull this sticky legged insect off me
He chortles and chuckles and pings off in the wind.
This hopper of grasses surely has annoyed and sinned.
Another one of these pests zings onto my shirt.
Giving me the willies, I scream at my cousin Bert
Get the lightening bug jar, let’s catch this foul creature
This grasshopper gives me a wink; he’s the double feature
Why are they so sticky? They are as tricky as glue.
And why, Bert, do these creepers never land on old you?
I guess I’m not as sweet, he says, with a wide smile.
Another one lands on me, says “Hi! Just call me Lyle!”
.
.
.
.
.
.
.s i t u a t i o n s*
.
.
.
.
.
He jumps on at the top
And the hopper bucks and kicks
But he is a resilient mouse
Whose knees are truly thick
He holds on past the daisies
The buttercups, and a daffodil
He never falls off,
While riding down this hill.
Colorful hopper skips along with a song
His plaid trousers stretched big and long
Grasses see him coming along their way
His knees prickle them a bit, just part of their day
He is unconcerned about world affairs and such.
Ukraine and Iran mean as little to him as Double Dutch
I watch him merrily dancing along, enjoying his day
Wishing I could be so globally unaware on this unhappy Friday.
Without narrative,
isolated as is moments
of figuration..
sunlight on the side of a wall
frozen in time
conversations
of unheard voices
stillness & paradox..
a welcome
to the world
come inside..
to reside.. to commune.
interplays
of imagination..
soundless tunes..
emblematic silences..
symbolism saturated
with suggestion.
Soft realism
where an inner life slowly cries..
gestates.
to lay forever on canvas..
the whole answer..there...
before our eyes
graceful anonymous
A panorama
on first sight
and yet..there but
perhaps
not! A perpetual
leaves
our imagination
to unfurl the knot
Sir Reginald Frog Hopper is as stuck up as they come.
His arrogance comes from his business, a favorite gum.
Few friends he has, actually, no one calls him a chum.
He has no knowledge of people, in that, he is kind of dumb.
inner sensations inhibit the view-
life stands still
expressions
of modern existence
uncovered in reality
an automat whose orbs of light
reflect and touch the void of night
a refuge from the twenties’ roar
trapped in her thoughts without a door
a table, cup and gloveless hand
alone together in her land
a bowl of fruit that sits behind:
the 'still life' and her state of mind.
where is the back road
that passes this place
- a gas station refuge
between nature and night
and who is the man
with the half hidden face
working / existing
in ethereal light?
bathed in still shadows
from an afternoon glow
and wrapped inside splendour
half faded half gone
this house from a time
remote silent and slow
stands trapped by the past
in a world moving on.
his distant still palette
of ambient light
painted the silence
of hawks in the night
catching a sadness
that hides in plain sight
in an air of detachment
that hints at their plight.
Without narrative, isolated as is moments of figuration..sunlight on the side of a wall..frozen in time..conversations of unheard voices.Within, stillness and a paradox..a welcome to the world to come inside.. to reside.. commune.
This interplay of imagination..soundless tunes..emblematic silences..symbolism saturated with suggestion.Soft realism where an inner life slowly cries.. gestates..to lay forever on canvas..the whole answer..there... before our eyes.
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